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Saturday, March 23, 2019

Call In Thunderbird Two

The other day, I remembered some chips I had in my pocket. Upon exiting the Men's room, I exclaimed "I JUST MADE $150"!!!!!

The Quad Queen replied, "In the men's room? Is that something to be proud of?"

The point was, it looked like my daily budget was almost gone and I was a huge loser. Upon remembering I had $150 in chips, I was a medium-sized loser. I GO GIRL.

So here we are on Day 14 in Las Vegas, and we have to be getting some props for not being on IVs at this point with gambling-induced exhaustion.

As mentioned, the stay at Luxor was just for one night (blame March Madness) and everything in the comp department happened the way it should have. Because of the steakhouse dinner, our bill was about $130 - oddly around the same as for 3 nights at Encore.

I slept in to after 8:00 AM - it's going to be hell getting back to Eastern time when I report to the Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer plant on Monday morning.

Breakfast was Little Giant coffee in my lucky mug, jalapeno mozzarella punishment cheese, and Girl Guide cookies.

We got everything packed up and I jammed out another award-to-be-winning post, and we hauled our shit down to the North Valet, where I abandoned the Quad Queen with 7 different items containing worldly possessions, and one $5 Walmart cold bag.

That thing has been the best $5 I've ever spent for room camping supplies. While at Wynn, I asked the QQ how she thought it was performing and she said it still had ice in it from three days previous.

I'd intended to get up to top speed in the rental car and throw it out on the freeway along with a bunch of frozen lobsters in homage to O.C. and Stiggs, but the thing works so well, we're going to figure out a way to get it home. It's pretty huge - I think the tag said it holds 48 ice cold beers... or a trip supply of punishment emergency desperation cheese.

With the Quad Queen guarding our stuff at the north thingy, I went to the rental car and with great tripidation approached the exit and it's incredibly and unnecessarily complex kiosk.

Every single time I've tried to use one of these, it's ended up taking five minutes, and with tears and somebody getting hurt - while a somebody done somebody wrong song played as the annoyingest soundtrack ever.

On this kiosk are instructions, two slots, a cancel button that doesn't work, a "call in Thunderbird 2" button, a touch ID pad, a laser scanner slot, and a set of instructional hieroglyphics that, as far as I can tell, amount to 'right foot green, left hand yellow'.

Good God, how can anyone in a hurry decipher all this shit?

The only thing that would be better would be if it talked to you. And in fact, my kiosk DID talk to me.

Here's what it said, verbatim. I apologize for the somewhat colorful language.

"Your card doesn't read. Try again. It doesn't read. Put another one in the slot, dumbass. Try again. Did you put the ticket in? You want the blue diamond, twat, not the red hexagon. Christ, are you stupid? Use the room key and hold it up. Not there, dickhead, hold it up to the scanner area. Fuck, you moron, not there - that's the employee laser scan area. Shit. Try again, fucktonsils. Oh my God. You are so thick! Take your fucking pearl card - now shove it in the slot - not that one, that's the credit card slot! My God man, you are dumber than a sack of Sphinx shit.

"Put your Pearl card in the slot where you put the paper ticket. What do you mean it says "Unknown Ticket"? Are you shitting me? Get a credit card ready, butt boy, because you are about to take it all you hot bitch, and pay for this shit out of your own pocket.

"No, no, no, no, NO! Try the room key again. Scan it. SCAN. IT. No, shit for brains, put it in the slot. Okay. Look. People are not only backed up behind you watching you make a total assgrind of yourself, they are fucking backing away so they can drive off the top of the parking structure, because it would be easier to plunge to their deaths than watch this abuse of technology by a prime triple A idiot.

"Do it. Push the panic button, you worthless piece of non-silicon-chipped shit. Push the pussy panic button and cry out to the disembodied voice that belongs to the 20-something that has been streaming your pathetic efforts live and is killing themselves laughing at you."

I pushed the button and cried, "Please just LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I went through more gyrations and finally the gate swung up. By now, all the people waiting behind me had abandoned the exit and plunged to their deaths.

I took the opportunity to plead with the disembodied voice to tell management that the parking system is horrid and I'm never fucking returning ever, ever, ever. At least, not in a car.

She took careful note of my opinion and will promptly forget about it and play Words with Friends instead of passing it forward.

And with that, we headed to South Point.


    1. Hey Flush. I empathize with your parking garage exiting issues. There's a way to bypass the machines at the exit gates. Near the parking garage elevator, there are three machines - two upstairs and one downstairs. As you're getting ready to leave, stop by one of these machines. Insert your ticket. The screen will say $XX.XX due or something like that. Insert your Pearl card. The screen will say "100 percent debited," and the machine will return your card and ticket. As you leave the garage, you won't even need to roll down your window. The license plate reader will note that you've paid, and the gate will magically open. Hope this helps. P.S. If you don't have a Pearl card, get the MILF credit card. That's an automatic upgrade to Pearl, plus $100 worth of MILF points after you charge $1,000 on the card.

    2. Replies
      1. Perhaps you would enjoy this anecdote.

        "At GrommetCon, I get a bit of luck. Norbert gives me the keys to his rental car to go and pick up an emergency shipment Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer logo grommet keychains, which by the way, don't work because of the flimsy plastic construction, and have a tendency to violently pinch your hand, sometimes drawing blood.

        "Other than the lingering Norbert-stench in the rental, it's freedom, like Papillon catching the seventh wave. I take the city streets to the McCarran Air Cargo Center and pick up three small boxes of the horrid keychains. Two of them have been crushed so that the corners have split open in a couple of places, and they are leaking keychains. I hand six of them to the counter dweller, who immediately breaks one. On my way out the door, I hear a yelp of pain from behind the counter, followed by an expletive.

        "I loop around the airport, put all the windows down, look for the spot. I turn west on Sunset, along the south edge of the airport, and drive fast, waiting for my moment. With two green lights ahead of me, and nobody around, I take the rental up to 85, straddling both lanes and jettison the boxes of stupid keychains, which explode behind me like bombs of cheap marketing cheese. Keychains are flying through the air in my rear view, the boxes spinning across the roadway, dumping more of the horrid things.

        "Then I get onto 215 and haul ass."


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